


The Second Time

by Carolinathousandcities



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolinathousandcities/pseuds/Carolinathousandcities
Summary: The second time that Franky Doyle is released from Wentworth.





	The Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> These two are killing me!

The second time she left it was nearly the opposite of the first.

The first time she had pulled on her civilian clothes with a nervous ache in her chest but the burn of victory in her stomach. The clothes had been almost too tight. The result of four years on a prison diet and nothing better to do than push ups.

This time she puts on her normal clothes and she doesn’t really feel anything. She won’t let herself. Not until she’s actually outside those gates. Her clothes are the slightest bit looser than when she came in.

Last time she had walked the fence, saying her goodbyes, strutting her stuff. Having her moment.

This time she leaves when the yard is empty. She’d said goodbye to the girls back in their cell. There was no need for tearful farewells.

Last time she had been leaving with no clue what she was doing, but the firm conviction that it was going to be fucking brilliant.

This time she leaves and all she wants is to feel the wind on her face and curl up between her sheets in perfect silence. If she will allow herself to admit it she knows who she wants between those sheets with her, holding her. But a thrill of terror runs through her chest at the idea that maybe that person doesn’t want the same thing anymore. That thought makes her hesitate at the gates for half a second.

Last time when she had left it had been sunny, as though even the sky had to smile for her.

This time, just as the buzz that releases the final gate rings out, it starts to drizzle. Rain misting around her and collecting in small beads on her hair, her jumper.

Last time she had walked down a driveway and there had been a hot girl, in a hot car, waiting to drive her off into the sunset.

This time nothing moves anywhere. There is no sunset. No car.

And she feels the crunch of gravel under her feet and she stops, raising her face up to the sky and she breathes it all in. Ignoring the weight of disappointment that settles deep in her stomach. And she takes a deep breath and she walks down that same driveway, head up, looking resolutely forward.

No sunset. No car.

But as the giant white boom gate grates open for her, there is something.

There is the girl.

Standing on the opposite side of the road to the prison, in the gutter, in the rain, waiting as though she had been standing there her whole life.

Last time Franky had kept her cool, grinned big and pinned the girl up against the Porsche. Possessive.

This time her eyes have misted a little with tears before she even sets foot off the curb, and it takes her a second to realise that she is running.

Last time her Gidget had smiled like a kid on Christmas morning.

This time she smiles like a woman who once had the world ripped away from her and was about to get it back again.

Last time Franky’s hands had focussed on the parts of Bridget she hadn’t been allowed to touch inside. The back of her neck. Her ass.

This time she pulls her in so closely, so tightly, that every single piece of them is pressed together. Like she may never let go.

Last time she had kissed Bridget more than once. Full of hope.

This time she pulls back from the hug and sets her hands on either side of Bridget’s face, thumbs trailing across her cheekbones, her lips, drinking her in. Reverent.

This time it is Bridget who pulls Franky down to her mouth and kisses her so hungrily, and for so long, that the rain makes their skin slippery.

Last time Franky hadn’t said anything.

This time she pushes her forehead against Bridget’s and closes her eyes and the rain masks the tears that slide down her face and she says, ‘I love you.’

And the dark shadow across her eyelids fades a little as water drips down from her hairline and she says, ‘I’m so sorry.’

But Bridget’s mouth swallows her words, her lips against Franky’s quickly.

‘Later,’ she breathes, sliding Franky’s hair back so she can look at her.

Last time Franky had an unknown apartment for a place to stay, and no home.

This time she understands that home isn’t always a house, and that in her case, it’s just the girl.  


End file.
